


Demeter's Daughter

by SerendipityDreamer



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anthropomorphic, F/M, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerendipityDreamer/pseuds/SerendipityDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demeter and Munkustrap were always thought to be the perfect pair; Soulmates in every sense of the word. They were loved and respected throughout the Jellicle Junkyard. And yet they could never manage to conceive children of their own. But when it happens that Demeter is finally pregnant, everyone is overjoyed. Munkustrap couldn't have been happier.</p><p>But Munkustrap wasn't the father, and Demeter refused to reveal his identity.</p><p>So that's when the rumors started. Demeter was dubbed a whore and a tramp, and everyone believed that the unborn child was Macavity's. The Jellicle Bastard was the name on everyone's mind and was whispered in everyone's ear. She was cast out, turned on by all and left to fend for herself. </p><p>Demeter has passed, but her daughter has returned in her name to the Junkyard. She wants bring honor back to her mother, find her father, and find a home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Return

**Author's Note:**

> I am the queen of trash and no one should offer me any forgiveness
> 
> This is my third time editing this fic. I love it deeply and endlessly; it's the first fic I ever started writing. And while I never finished it (or any fic for that matter) I still return to it. So while the other stories I'm working on continue to sit blocked up in my mind, this one decided to come charging out again.
> 
> This is the result, and it's taken quite a different turn from how it was last time. I hope you enjoy.

There is a certain sense of wonder that comes with imagining the unknown. You look at a postcard, _Greetings from ITALY!_ , and you try to imagine yourself there. You look through books and brochures, envisioning yourself on the gondolas in Venice and sipping wine on the veranda of your hotel overlooking the bustling narrow streets of Rome. You imagine the people, endlessly more cultured than you, speaking in a language of love that you have an endless admiration for. You imagine falling in love with one of these untouchable people as you bump into each other while getting espresso, and your glorious Italian lover whisks you away on a grand adventure that you cannot help but tell everyone about.

But then you open your eyes and the illusion is gone. You open your eyes and you realize the Italy you imagine is worlds away, and that you are stuck where you are, rather than stuck in Italy.

In a grimy back alley in the middle of London, there is a soggy postcard with a picture of Italy and a too thin stray kitten swatting at it. The two are entirely unrelated. On a trashcan in the aforementioned alley is another too thin cat, and she is imagining herself being somewhere better.  But then the wind kicks up, a siren blares, the postcard flies away, the kitten chases after it, and the cat’s eyes open. She is not where she dreams to be; she is exactly where she started.

That cat is me.

I leap down from the trashcan, looking up at the moon bathing the alley in a pale light. It is oddly cloudless for a London night, and that fact is in equal parts a blessing and an omen, as if the moon is both watching over me and condemning me, but I know that somewhere beyond the moon my mother resides in the stars of the Heaviside Layer. She is the only reason I am even considering to go to the Jellicle Junkyard tonight.

My steps are not my own as I begin walking towards the Junkyard. It’s a path I seem know by heart, but I’ve never traversed it myself. But Mother’s descriptions are so vivid: through the busted TV and down coffee cup trash pile; watch your step on the sharp bits of glass from the shattered car window.

Even though my conscience is screaming at me to get away, I keep pushing forward. My mother wanted me to come here, and I would have done anything to make her happy. She had always composed herself in front of me. She made sure I had someone to look up to, someone who didn’t crumble from insults. I was here for her. I wouldn’t crumble; I would stay strong.

As I make my way through the meandering maze surrounding the Junkyard, I can’t stop thinking about my mother. Her voice begins to fill my head as the image of her begins to pull itself together:

_“Memory, all alone in the moonlight.”_

I can see her as she holds me in a warm embrace, petting my hair to comfort me. She would sing me the same song all the time. It became a source of happiness and security; my image of my mother was synonymous with this song.

_“Daylight, I must wait for the sunrise."_

Mother was beautiful. Demeter, a name belonging to a goddess. She was one, at least to me. My mother had this glittering mix of black and golden fur. It was like she was a painting in motion, flecks of red and patches of white popping with just a simple tilt of her head. It was an simple beauty that she upheld so gracefully, even in the face of adversity.

_"I must think of a new life, and I mustn’t give in."_

My mother was popular once. She was one of the most prominent queens in the Junkyard. She was loved and cared for, but even after her fall from grace, she stayed composed. Even as she left her home behind, with a bastard kitten held close to her, she maintained her poise. She didn’t let her past define who she was. I always wanted to have that power too. 

_"I must think of a new life, and I mustn’t give in."_

I remember Mother’s eyes were such a sharp shade of amber that I thought I could see the world reflected in her eyes. And while I couldn’t see the world, I could always read my mother’s emotions. There was strength, love, and very rarely, sadness. I don’t think it was her own banishment that made her sad; I think it was that I would never know life as a Jellicle Cat.

_"When the dawn comes, tonight will be a memory, too. And a new day will begin."_

Until now, of course. When my mother died, she told me that her last wish was that I return home, to the Jellicle Junkyard. It was far from being my home. As far as I was concerned, my home was in my mother’s arms. But without those arms to hold me up, I had no where else to turn. I tried to make it on my own, but the streets were a harsh place with little food and protection. I lasted a few months, but I knew I couldn’t live like this.

So even the Jellicle Junkyard, where I would face certain persecution, began to look somewhat appealing.

~

I leap down from a particularly high perch to a busted pink couch. The couch, with springs jutting out from its cushions, was more brown now then anything, but I make my way across it and slip into the hollowed out stove. The back had corroded away, and I crawl through it onto a narrow but relatively clear path.

My chest tightens with each step I take towards the Junkyard. A tower of cardboard boxes threatens to spill over on my right, and a green trash can sits unassumingly on my left. I was so close. It was as if my body knew the way, like a moth drawn to a flame. This should be my home. I know that in my heart, but my conscience is still screaming, telling me it’s not too late to turn around.

But I can’t. I must think of a new life, and I mustn’t give in.

~

_“Momma?”_

_“Listen to me, sweetie. You are strong, brave, and beautiful. You are mine.”_

_“Momma…please.”_

_“I wanted to go back with you, but fate changed that, huh?”_

_“You’re gonna be fine, Momma.”_

_“Go home for me, my love. Go back to the Junkyard.”_

~

I keep making my way down the narrow path, bracing myself for anything that may come my way. I am in Jellicle territory now, and I don’t think anyone is going to be giving me any sort of diplomatic treatment.

A mouse scurries between my feet, and my head darts to follow its path. It squishes itself between a broken cable box and a microwave oven, and in my distraction I fail to notice the cat coming up behind me.

I fall forwards suddenly and forcefully, yelping in both surprise and pain. I collapse into a larger clearing, scrambling to stay on my feet. I can barely figure out where I am before my feet are no longer touching the ground. Claws are digging into my skin and a low growl filling my ears, “What the hell are you doing here?”

My eyes must have closed with the shock of it all, but when I open them, I’m surprised to find that I recognize the hateful grey-eyed glare.

~

_“How could you love him, Momma?”_

_“Oh, he’s handsome, charming, and elegant. Tall and stern to those around him, but his silver exterior melted in front of me.”_

_“But he…”_

_“The past should make no difference, my love. I’ve told you that a thousand times.”_

_“I know, Momma. What was his name?”_

_“His name is Munkustrap.”_

~

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" Munkustrap growls once more. His grip on me tightens, and I began to kick my legs, hoping to either hit him or land on the ground.

“Let me go,” I huff as a I reach up in an attempt to loosen his grip on me. I need to get away, far away. Being so near to the cat that cast my mother out like a piece of trash is making me sick.

Munkustrap is unrelenting, bringing me closer and bearing his fangs,  “I let you go before, and now you’ve come back. How dare you threaten us.”

Us. I look around desperately and I notice that there are others watching us. There are dozens of cats, some perched on garbage and others peeking out from their homes, but none of them look pleased to see me. I am in the heart of the Jellicle Junkyard, and these unfriendly faces may be the last that I ever see.

Suddenly, Munkustrap releases me and I drop to the ground. I scramble for a moment before I can fully regain my balance, and it’s then that I am able to truly get a good look at the older cat.

My mother wasn’t wrong: he is handsome. Munkustrap is a tall and lean silver and black tabby. He’s older now than when he knew my mother, but he’s still frighteningly intimidating. He stands at least a head taller than me, and his piercing grey gaze seems to bore into my very soul. He’s the Jellicle Protector in every sense.

“If you leave now, I won’t use force,” Munkustrap sneers, standing tall and firm.

“Oh, so none of that before was force?” I ask, standing straight and squaring my shoulders. In all honesty, I am scared out of my mind, but I’m not going to run away with my tail between my legs. If I was going to be thrown out, I wanted it to be with a fair fight.

Munkustrap’s brow furrows and he steps threateningly closer, “You have no place here.”

I tilt my chin upwards, in an act of dominant pride, “It’s my birthright, just as it’s yours.”

The sound that bursts forth from Munkustrap’s mouth is pure and guttural hatred. He surges forwards, pushing me onto my back and knocking the breath from my lungs. His claws dig into my arms and I yowl in pain.

Munkustrap shifts his weight, reaching out to push down on my throat, but I shift my own weight and knock him off. I take the moment and the surge of adrenaline to pounce, claws out and teeth bared.

My claws slash across his face, and Munkustrap growls as he grabs my arm and twists it behind my back. He kicks me forwards onto the ground and I brace for him to jump onto me once more.

But there was nothing. No sudden weight, no more claws digging into my skin. Instead, standing between me and Munkustrap was another cat, a tall patched black and white tom. His back is towards me, so I can’t see his face, but I can clearly see the shock and surprise on Munkustrap’s.

“Munkus,” the tom pleads, his voice low and dangerous, “Don’t you think this is just a bit uncalled for?”

Munkustrap regains his composure, stepping forwards with his anger now focused on the other tom, “She’s the one who came here unwelcome. I have every right-”

“And so does she,” the tom cuts in, “She’s not wrong. She’s still Demeter’s daughter; this is her home.”

Munkustrap bristles, a blazing fury burning in his grey eyes, “How _dare_ you suggest that she’s one of us!”

During this argument, I manage to get back onto my feet, but I also take the time to scan my surroundings. The cats watching us are enraptured. Some look confused, even horrified, but others are burning with the same fury and contempt Munkustrap has. Others still look worried, not wanting to see a fight break out amongst their own.

“Demeter was one of us!” The black and white tom roars, stepping towards Munkustrap, “You’re the one that acts like she never was!”

The tension is thick between the two toms, and I realize then that this fight isn’t so much about my returning to the Junkyard, but rather about why I wasn’t here in the first place. This was a fight that started before I was even born.

Munkustrap bares his fangs once more, ready for another fight. The other tom seems eager to reciprocate, but a huffy stout older tabby jumps down from her perch and makes her way towards the two toms.

“Both of you, stop this!” She scolds, pushing Munkustrap and the other tom apart, “I will not have you two tearing each other apart.”

“Perhaps Alonzo should learn his place,” Munkustrap growls, wilting a bit behind the tabby’s hand. Even though Munkustrap is the Jellicle Protector, this queen seems to hold a matronly authority over him.

“And perhaps you should reconsider your actions,” Alonzo spits back, his brow furrowing, “You can’t have it both ways, Munk. You can’t act like this now and then go away later and pretend to be the injured party.”

“Both of you!” The queen exclaims, pushing the toms even further apart and physically inserting herself between them, “Why don’t we sit and have a calm discussion about this? I’m sure we can all-”

“The time for discussions is long gone,” Munkustrap sneers, pulling back and focusing on me once more, “Just send her off and we’ll all be happier.”

“Will we?” Another queen’s voice joins the argument. Her voice comes from behind me, but I don’t dare take my eyes off of Munkustrap. I feel that if I look away, then he’ll lunge at me again.

Munkustrap’s gaze shifts to the queen behind me, “Stay out of this, Bomba.”

“No, Munkus,” she replies, her voice growing closer, “That fateful day years ago, everything here changed. Can you really say we’re all as happy as we were when Demeter was still here? When we were a full Jellicle tribe?”

Munkustrap huffs and rolls his eyes, jabbing a finger towards Alonzo, “This was all your doing, wasn’t it? You’ve planned all of this to make me look like a warring fool.”

Alonzo didn’t look so much insulted as simply tired and disappointed, “I’ve no reason to make you look like a fool, Munkus. I just want what’s right...what’s best.”

Munkustrap drops his arm and looks between the three cats challenging him. He sighs, his body wilting in defeat before he looked at me. His eyes burned a bit more softly, but his tone was still biting, “If you want to earn your place here, then prove you’re a true Jellicle. You have one month to do so. And then, if it’s considered _what’s right_ ,” he glares at Alonzo, “Old Deuteronomy shall decide your fate.”

Without another word, Munkustrap storms off. He cuts across the clearing and climbs atop the trunk of a car, disappearing into the dark towers of garbage. I’ve never felt so equally relieved and terrified.

The show now over, the cats watching return to their regular business, returning home and to the surrounding Junkyard. I stand, dumbstruck, with the three cats who came to my aid standing with me.

The stout tabby steps forwards first, reaching out and tenderly touching my shoulder, "Are you alright, dearie?"

I wince as pain blooms where she touches, but I clench my teeth and bear it, "As alright as I can be in this situation.”

The queen frowns and shakes her head, “I’m sorry, dearie. Munkustrap is just a bit...”

“Stubborn,” Alonzo offers, his arms crossed as he stands a bit behind the stout queen, “That’s the kindest word for it.”

I simply nod, unsure of what to say. It seems wrong to agree, but I can’t really find anything redeeming in my first impression of Munkustrap.

“How about we continue this discussion elsewhere?” The younger queen chimes. I finally turn to get a look at her, and she’s stunning. She’s tall and curvaceous, her red and white fur standing out boldly against her black markings.

“Where? Your den? Jenny’s?” Alonzo replies, uncrossing his arms and stepping towards the queen with exasperation. He lowers his voice as he continues his sentence, “You know there’s voices everywhere, Bomba.”

The queen nods and glances away, thinking for a moment before looking back at Alonzo, “Your den then?”

Alonzo shakes his head quickly, “No. Misto is home, and I’m not bringing him into this. He’s still a kid, Bomba.”

“Then can you think of a better place?” Bomba asks, raising her eyebrow haughtily.

The stout queen next to Alonzo looks a bit nervous as she sees apprehension cross the tom’s face, but Alonzo merely sighs in defeat, “Fine, let’s just go.”

Alonzo turns and gestures for us to follow him, and the three of us fall into step behind him. As we start walking, it hits me rather suddenly that I’m here. I made it to the Jellicle Junkyard, a bit worse for wear, of course. But what’s more, I’m actually being offered help. Hesitant help, but help nonetheless.

We make our way quickly out of the clearing, climbing up and over a junk pile before jumping down behind. We squeeze past two towers of tires before coming up to an armoire tipped onto its side. The wood is a deep brown, blending into the trash that surrounds it.

Alonzo nudges the door open and gestures for us to go inside, “Ladies first, please.”

The stout queen practically chirps as she offers Alonzo a curtsey before stepping inside. The other queen follows, a grateful smile on her lips. I can’t even manage to take a step forwards.

Alonzo tilts his head and frowns, gesturing towards him once more, “Come on, no one in there is going to hurt you.”

I nod meekly and step forwards, taking a deep breath before stepping into the armoire.

It’s much bigger than it looks from the outside. The back of the armoire has been taken out, so the front of the furniture only acts as a doorway. Inside is a much larger den, quilts and blankets of all different patterns covering the floor. I turn slowly, admiring the fairy lights strung up on the walls and wondering how the hell Alonzo had gotten them in here. This den was warm and well lit and filled with knickknacks collected over time.

It was a home, but it couldn’t be mine.

Alonzo steps in not soon after, scanning the den and letting out a sigh of relief, “You better be thankful that Misto isn’t here, Bomba."

“He would’ve been fine, Alonzo,” The red and white queen replies, gesturing towards me, “Now let’s get back to the topic at hand?”

Alonzo presses his lips together and nods, moving his arm in a sweeping gesture, “Let’s all sit first, yeah?”

I nod, settling down on top of a tartan patterned quilt. The other cats settled around me, each of them looking at me steadily. I swallow hard and look down at my hands, “Can we start with names at least? If we’re going to be having a discussion, I want to at least know what to call you.”

The stout queen answers first, reaching out and tenderly touching my shoulder once more, “I’m Jennyanydots, dearie, but it’s just Jenny to you. I’ll have you know that we’re all happy to have you here.”

I wince, not just from the pain of the touch but from her words. Everyone was certainly not happy about my being here. I’m fairly certain Munkustrap was willing to do anything to make sure I left and never came back.

“Definitely,” Alonzo continued, not really seeing my quiet distress, “I’m sorry if I seem like kind of an ass, it’s just...there’s a lot going on right now. But I’m Alonzo, and you can count on me to keep you safe from Munkus.”

The red and white queen, more attune to my discomfort, speaks slowly and carefully, “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. Munkustrap is far from the cat he used to be, and it’s his own doing,” she pauses, and the tender look in her eyes reminds me of my mother, “I’m Bombalurina, but just shorten it to Bomba. Less of a mouthful.”

I nod, her name sounding familiar. Perhaps my mother had mentioned her in passing, just as she had mentioned Munkustrap.

“And you?” Bomba prompts, “We knew Demeter, but she never had the chance to tell us what she named you.”

An odd pain began to bloom in my chest. These cats must have been my mother’s friends, and she had never even gotten the chance to tell them my name. She had been kicked out so swiftly and completely, and I could only imagine the pain of she had felt. I suppose that’s what I was feeling now.

“Jezzabella,” I mutter, lifting my head slowly, “She named me Jezzabella.”

“That’s a gorgeous name,” Jenny supplies, a soft smile on her face, “You look a lot like her, you know. Your eyes have the same sort of shine.”

“And you’ve got the same type of swagger,” Bomba grins, her emotion clear on her face, “Demeter could be timid, but she was also one of the bravest cats I knew. It took a lot for you to stand up to Munkustrap like that.”

I offer a smile, feeling a bit more comfortable being surrounded by these cats. They knew my mother, cared for my mother, and now they cared for me.

“That won’t be enough to convince Munkus,” Alonzo mutters, a frown on his face, “I hate to say it, but Munkus won’t allow you to stay until one of the Jellicle toms steps up and says he’s your father.”

The smile I had managed to offer falls quickly from my face. Bomba and Jenny both begin to scold Alonzo for his bluntness, but I know he’s right. This place is far from being my home, because I don’t even know who my father is. Mother never told me, she never told anyone. How was I supposed to find him without a single clue to go on?

Suddenly someone is holding my shoulder, and I wince and swat them away. My voice is low and rough, and it hardly sounds like my own, “I’ll leave. None of you owe me anything.”

“But we do,” Jenny pleads. She must have been the one holding my shoulder. She must mean it to be a sign of matronly care, but it still hurts like hell because of my wounds, “Let’s patch you up at least. Then we can worry about everything else.”

I sigh and look between Alonzo and Bombalurina. They both share the look of concern in Jenny’s eyes, and I know that I can’t say no. And besides, getting care for my wounds is certainly something I need.

“All right, but just a patch up. You don’t have to do anything else.”

 


	2. Perhaps a Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the trash goddess all the time
> 
> This chapter is vastly shorter than the first one, but it's okay because I'm adding a fun little interludes olé

Jennyanydots, ever the concerned and caring matron, scurried from the den with the promise of returning with bandages and other supplies to treat my wounds. I am thus left alone with Alonzo and Bombalurina, and I can’t help but marvel at how rapidly my life has changed in the course of a few hours.

I had gone from a cat living on the street, motherless and with no positive outlook on life, to a cat with a one month ultimatum to finding my father or be cast out onto the street once more.

In all honesty, this was the best thing that could have happened to me.

Bomba finally broke the silence that had fallen over us, and she shifts towards me tentatively, “We’ll find a place for you to stay, Jezzabella. Whether it’s at one of our dens or if we find a place for you elsewhere.”

“There’s a hollowed out refrigerator near here,” Alonzo says, his eyes unfocused with thought, “It leads through to a very small den. It’ll be big enough for you to stay, but we’ll have to be careful Munkus doesn’t know you’re living there.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t like the idea of me staying in a den that could go to a ‘real Jellicle,’” I reply, shrugging lamely.

“I hate to say you’re right,” Alonzo sighs, shaking his head, “He was a much different cat when I first knew him. If anyone needed a place to stay, Jellicle or not, he welcomed them with open arms. Now...well, I don’t think I need to tell you what he’s like now.”

I offer a weak smile, “I’ve got the wounds to prove it, don’t worry.”

Alonzo huffs a laugh and moves to stand, beginning a slow pace around the room, “It’ll be hard to pull off, but we can keep you there undetected. The biggest problem would be Misto.”

“Alonzo, come off it,” Bomba sighs, rolling her eyes, “I know you want to protect him, but Misto is old enough to handle this.”

Alonzo glares fiercely at Bomba, “Misto is still a kid, Bomba, and he’s my responsibility. He has been since I was a kid myself. I can decide what’s best for him.”

Bomba looks like she’s ready to come back with something, and I’m preparing to break up what could quickly become a fight and ask who this Misto character is when Jenny bursts back into the den. She’s cradling a bucket of water in one arm and a collection of medical supplies in the other.

“Alonzo, I want you to scrounge up a few old towels. Things you don’t care to part with,” Jenny ordered, setting the bucket and her supplies down, “And Bomba, come here and help me clean Jezzabella’s wounds.”

Jenny sits next to me and pulls my left arm towards her, examining the deep scratches there with a matronly tutting, “That Munkustrap. Why I ought to-”

“Jenny,” Bomba sighs, frowning as she takes a torn piece of a blanket from Alonzo. She doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t need to. Jenny falls silent and attends to my wounds with Bomba, cleaning and bandaging them. I do my best not to squirm too much, but my gashes are deep and they hurt.

I try to think of other things to distract myself. I try to imagine this small refrigerator den that Alonzo is going to keep me in. I think of the kindness that I’ve been shown and that it is a temporary comfort. I think that I’m more of a burden than anything else right now. I wonder how exactly I’m going to find my father, because I was a burden to him more than anyone else. Except perhaps my mother, but at least she claimed responsibility for me.

It takes me a moment to notice that Jenny and Bomba are no longer prodding at me and my arms are my own again. My mind is no longer talking itself into a self-pitying circle. I blink and examine my arms, bandaged and covering my golden black fur, just like my mother's.

“We’ll change them often,” Jenny says as she gestures to my arms. I wonder if she’s been talking to me this entire time, fretting over my wounds and telling me how to take care of them. “I’ll stop by often enough, so you don’t have to worry about tracking me down,” Jenny finishes with a smile and pats my knee. I don't know if I could have handled her accidentally touching my arm again.

I nod in response, letting my arms fall to my sides. I said I would leave didn’t I? I was going to leave as soon as my wounds were patched up. But I can’t leave, not yet. Alonzo, Jenny, and Bomba are all rooting for me, even if I can’t manage to do that for myself. And my mother is surely rooting for me too, cheering me on from her perch in the Heaviside.

“Come on,” Alonzo says, helping me to my feet and snapping me out of my thoughtd, “I’m going to show you to your new den.”

~

Alonzo and I make our way out of his den and move swiftly and quietly through the Junkyard. We’re not walking for too long, but the location of the den is secluded and far from the heart of the Junkyard itself. After perhaps ten minutes, the refrigerator comes into view. It seems ancient, and parts of the outer frame are dented and rusting. When Alonzo nudges open the door, I climb inside and examine the small den. There’s enough room to lie down and stand up, but I certainly can’t create the sea of blankets that Alonzo has in his den, nor can I figure out how to hang those fairy lights.

“I’m sorry I can’t do better,” Alonzo says, standing a bit outside of the main den so that I have enough room to maneuver inside, “This was short notice, and Munkustrap isn’t likely to find out about you here.”

“I understand,” I reply, gesturing vaguely to the den itself, "How did you string the lights in your den? It would help the place look better at least.”

Alonzo looks almost embarrassed, thinking for a moment before answering, “That’s Misto’s doing, not mine. He loves finding human objects and getting them to work. He found most of our blankets on his own, too.”

“And Misto is?” I ask, turning in time to watch Alonzo’s expression transform from embarrassed to uncomfortable.

“Misto is my little brother. It’s just been me and him for a long time.”

I pause for a moment before turning away. I don't want to ask what happened that created the situation Alonzo is in, but at the same time I can't help but imagine the worst. Alonzo has probably taken care of Misto since he was a kitten; I can understand Alonzo's qualms about introducing his brother to me and running the risk of further invoking Munkustrap's wrath. I'm just a problem to everyone, even to those I haven't met yet.

Alonzo sighs and steps into the den, sensing my unease and placing a hand on my good shoulder, “Jezzabella, it’s not-”

“Don’t you dare say it’s not my fault,” I bite back, turning and glaring at him, “You can hate me, it’s fine. I'd be surprised if you didn't.”

“It’s not that,” Alonzo huffs, running a hand down his face as he searches for the words, “It’s just...I’ve always been there to protect Misto. I made sure we always had a home, that he was always safe and happy. Yes, you returning complicates things. That doesn't mean I'm not going to help you, and I don't hate you, but Misto is always going to be a priority for me.”

I nod, but I can't really meet Alonzo’s gaze. I tell myself it’s fine that Alonzo isn’t comfortable with involving his brother with my problems, but it still hurts. Can it even be considered hurting? The pain of being a bastard child is more of a numbing burn; I suppose what hurts is that Alonzo, who does want to help me, can only commit so much. I'm sure Bomba and Jenny have their own responsibilities too. But I nod once more and manage a shrug, and I speak without sounding annoyed, because it would just be petty, “It’s fine. I get it. Family has to come first.”

“Thank you,” Alonzo mutters, but I don’t know if he means it. He gestures around the den and towards the entrance, trying to divert from the topic, “You can fill this place with whatever you want from around the Junkyard. If you stay on the outskirts, you should be fine. Jenny will probably visit more often than is really necessary, and Bomba or I will try to stop by at least once a day.”

Alonzo glances my way and tilts his head towards the door, “I should be heading back. There’s a storm to calm with Munkustrap in the Yard, and it’s better that that gets handled sooner rather than later.”

I wave him off, “Just go, I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll explore a bit.” I'm not entirely lying. I will explore a bit; I want to see what else there is around my temporary lodgings. But I'm not fine, that's for sure.

Alonzo nods and mutters a quick goodbye before bolting off. I try not to figure out if he left so quickly because he wanted to get away from me, or because he really did need to handle something with Munkustrap.

I turn and examine my small new den one last time before I slip outside, set on exploring the isolated corner of the Junkyard that would be my home for the next month.

~

_“Momma, this place is gross.”_

_“Don’t think of it like that, darling. Think of it as...charming.”_

_“But there’s bugs and dead things.”_

_“I know, but we have to make the most of it.”_

_“I still hate it anyway.”_

_“You don’t have to like it, love. You just have to live in it and make it your home.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yours till the moon shines,
> 
> SerendipityDreamer


	3. Encounters

There is something horrible and terrifying about imagining the unknown. There is no romantic idea of a sightseeing vacation. Instead, there is the rather acute sensation of drowning when you know there’s plenty of air for you to breathe. Any number of things can happen, and more often than not it is the absolute worst possible scenario. Everything is lost, gone, or broken. Lives are shattered and torn apart. In a particularly horrid stroke of bad luck, perhaps, social structure and the world itself collapse. It’s a pessimistic and apocalyptic way to look at the world, but nothing in the world says that none of these fears aren’t justified. My world is crumbling and rotting and I can’t do a thing about it.

I open my eyes and the apocalypse is gone. In its place are the scattered and teetering towers of trash that litter the Jellicle Junkyard. And while my view of the Junkyard isn’t collapsing into itself, there is a rolling boil beneath its surface, waiting for the moment where the pressure is too much and the eruption is devastatingly easy.

I leap down from my perch and begin to walk aimlessly, away from the heart of the Junkyard but deeper into its puzzling outskirts. The paths are not as well defined, and there’s something oddly more wild about exploring it. It’s a place not often explored, and perhaps it offers a more wondrous view of what the unknown can offer. More wondrous than the apocalypse I was imagining, at the very least.

But then there is rumbling sound, best described as a muted explosion, and I shift between fight and flight.

It would be easier to run, of course. It could be a human or another cat, or simply a deadly inanimate hazard. Or, it could be someone or something interesting. But it’s not worth risking, is it?

I’m not sure why I start walking towards the source of the noise. Perhaps it’s the thrill of the unknown that’s pulling me forward.

I creep quietly through the piles of trash, closer to the source of the explosion. I'm careful not to make too much noise, because whoever or whatever made it might not be willing to play nice. I tensed as the sound of another explosion filled the air, but this time a distinct swear followed it. Someone was causing these explosions, but they sounded frustrated that they were doing so.

“Dammit! It’s one simple spell.”

I slip into a nook created by the rubbish with a narrow opening at the end, framing a small clearing. The area has a bit of a lopsided shape, and the only object of note is a white and green plastic slide in the corner. But on top of that slide is a black and white tuxedo tom, and staining the concrete in the center of the clearing are the marks of an explosion.

The tom, who’s rather thin and appears to be about my age, stares down at his hands with frustration. The smell of the explosions are still fresh in the air and the ground is smoking. This cat must have caused them, but how? If I heard him correctly, he mentioned a spell. And that implies magic, which is ridiculous. Cats can’t be magical, can they?

“One more time,” the tom mutters, rolling his shoulders and puffing out his chest, “You’ve got this. Nothing to it.” He shifts his weight and lets out a long breath to calm himself before adjusting his stance.

The tom circles his hands around each other and a pale electric blue hue surrounds them. My eyes widen as the hue begins to take shape, and the tom conjures a sphere of the same electric blue color. The sphere in his hands seems to glitter, like a sky full of stars. The tom pulls his hands apart and the sphere collapses, the glittering mass moving to his right hand as he pulls it back.

“Conjuro Phantasia!” he shouts, pushing his right hand forward and sending it hurtling towards the ground. It looks like a shooting star streaking across the sky. Something in my chest swells with amazement, and maybe this being magic isn’t so ridiculous. But for the sense of wonder that seemed to swell in my chest, there was also a sense that something wasn’t right. Suddenly, the magical blue sphere is closer than it was before, too close. I shout and scramble back, but by the time I start moving, the magic explodes before my eyes. My ears are ringing and I can’t see, and it’s suddenly very difficult to move and I can hardly breathe.

~

I struggle against the garbage that surrounds me, a sandwich wrapper from a restaurant plastering itself to my face and what feels like pieces of a plastic milk crate dig into the skin of my leg. Maybe I’m dying. Maybe I’m going to be smothered under a pile of trash with nothing but the sound of my own ears ringing to console me. With each struggling movement, I feel like I’m sinking deeper, and the part of my mind that wants to fight is getting weaker. What’s the point of fighting? It’s better for everyone if I’m dead, isn’t it? Death by trash really isn’t a glamorous way to go, but at least I wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

"I must think of a new life, and I mustn’t give in."

My mother’s song comes to me, her voice filling my ears and almost cancelling out the ringing. If I died, I would be disappointing her. If not for myself, I must persevere for her. But am I even getting out of this? Breathing is becoming horribly difficult, and the weight of the garbage is almost too much.

“Hey! Hey! Can you hear me?”

That’s not my mother’s song; it’s someone else’s voice. Is that the tom from before? He knows I’m trapped in here?

“Crap, come on. Please, don’t be dead.”

Suddenly, the darkness is gone and I’m temporarily blinded by light as the trash above me is finally torn away. I gasp for air and my hearing begins to return. There’s a sigh of relief above me, and hands are slotting themselves under my armpits to drag me out from beneath the pile of garbage.

“Daylight, I must wait for the sunrise."

I’m alive. I haven’t been smothered to death by trash because of my curiousity. Curiosity has not killed the cat, and I am so endlessly grateful to this tom. I blink hard and rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying to readjust to the light and perhaps get a better look at my savior.

“Here, sit up,” he says, and his voice is somehow both concerned and charmingly musical. “I’m so sorry,” he says, appropriately flustered, “I didn’t know anyone else was here, but then I thought I heard a shout before the explosion again, and-”

“It’s fine,” I rasp, cutting the tom off and managing a smile. My eyes finally start to feel like they’re adjusting, so I move to look at this tom properly. I’m still not coherent enough to know if I look completely in awe. He’s alarmingly cute, and that shouldn't be the first thought I have after a near death experience. His fur is sleek and it seems to be shimmering, and his eyes are dark but tender, a mystery all on their own. For all that’s just happened, he still appears decidedly composed.

The tuxedo tom looks at me, concern still etched on his face, but also perhaps relief? Maybe that I'm alive, or maybe that I stopped him from rambling earlier. Either way, it’s an endearing look.

"What was that?" I ask, breaking the silence and looking away from him, "That explosion. Did you cause that?"

The tom flushes and looks away, staring down at his hands, "I don't know what it is. No matter what I do, I can't get that spell to work."

"A spell...like magic," I breath, my own eyes moving now to his oddly graceful looking hands, "I remember blue, it looked like a shower of glitter."

"Magic," he says, chuckling softly, "I was born with it, but there's still so much I can't control. That spell, it's supposed to be beautiful, a fantasy brought to life. But each time..." He trails off, and I don't need him to finish. I saw the evidence of what that failed spell does, and I don’t really care to see it again.

I shift uncomfortably on the ground, offering a slight shrug, "It probably sounds like tired out advice, but practice makes perfect. I'm sure one day you'll have that spell nailed perfectly."

“It’s nice of you to say that,” the tom huffs with a polite laugh, and I feel like he means it. The slight smirk on his face is genuine, and I find myself imitating his smile. I feel ridiculous as a warmth blossoms in my chest. I have no idea who this tom is, but at the same time he doesn't know who I am. It's a comfort to have someone be kind towards me without the added baggage of being the Jellicle Bastard.

But the moment has to end sometime. “Come on,” the tom says, standing and helping me up. His hands are pleasantly warm and I grasp his arm for support, and I feel even more ridiculous now for the blush I feel creeping to my cheeks. His smile never falls from his face, and now there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes, cheeky thing, "Now don't go crawling into dangerous nooks anymore, and no more spying on magical cats. It'd be a shame to see something bad happen to you."

"Maybe you should practice somewhere a little less dangerous," I offer teasingly while backing away, because I will not be reduced to blushes and giggles in front of him, "Then I wouldn't have had to squeeze in somewhere so tight to watch you." I can’t help but notice I feel oddly colder now that I’ve stepped let go of him.

The tom chuckles in return and spins around, moving across the clearing to climb up the slide he had been perched on before. Upon reaching the top, he looks down on me with the same cheeky grin as before, "Well, you won't have to hide anymore. I offer a formal invitation to watch me practice." He gestures grandly around him and bows at the waist, that cocky smirk never leaving his face.

"I'll have to see if I'm busy," I quip, "I watch many magical cats in my spare time. Not all of them are so life threatening."

"Oh, but I saved your life, you owe me," he retorts, straightening back up with a smirk, "Until next time then, I suppose,” he points down at the ground, “Right back here."

Before I can offer a proper response, the tom raises his right hand, that wondrous blue magic surrounding it once more. "Creaturae Evanescere!" he cries, bringing his hand down and firing the magic towards his feet. Rather than an explosion, the tom disappears in a fantastic cloud of what looks like glittering stars.

I smile and linger for a moment, relishing the brief moment of mysterious companionship I had shared with the tom. I had never had anything like it before; everyone always knows who I am before I even open my mouth. But that tom, he didn't know me, or my mother, or the story surrounding me. He just saw me. And maybe I don't know who he is either but that's nice, because it's mysterious and it makes me want to come back and see him again.

Eventually, I turn and leave the clearing, making my way back towards my den. No matter how much I want to hide away and have fun with mysterious strangers, I have to return to reality at some point. My life just can't be as magical as that tom.

~

One rather rambling walk later, I return to my den and decide to settle down and perhaps plan on decorating it. As I sit in the tight and temporary space, I know I want to try and make it more cozy. I’ve never really had the opportunity to have a home before, so I want to take advantage of having one while I still have it. I’m imagining blankets and fairy lights when Bombalurina comes in suddenly, scaring me into sitting up. I know Alonzo said she would be one of the cats to come and check on me, but I didn’t expect anyone to come until tomorrow at least, or to come in so quietly and uninvited. Today had been a big enough day already; everyone had families to go home to, no doubt.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Bomba says with a smile, but her eyes don’t show it. I can’t put a name to the emotion behind her eyes, but it worries me nonetheless. Even as she sits down next to me and gently pats my knee, I can tell a part of her is still somewhere else. It has to be my fault somehow that she’s so thrown off.

“I wanted to see how you were settling in,” Bomba says, her voice strained, “It’s snug, I can see, but nice.”

I smile and shrug, looking around the cramped space, “Well it’s just me who’s staying here. It’ll suit me; I’ve lived in worse.”

Bomba nods, but I feel like she’s pulling her further away. Maybe it’s what I said, that I’ve had worse dens than this. Maybe she feels guilty, wishing that she could do more for me than this.

We settle in for a long silence, and there’s nothing I want to do more than scream. I don’t want Bomba to feel this tense around me; I don’t want her hand on my knee to feel like a formality; I don’t want her to look like she’s ready to be anywhere but here. I want to ask her what’s wrong, and I want her to be honest. I can handle being a problem; I’ve heard it often enough in my life. I want to run away and meet the mystery tom again; I want to see him use that amazing magic and I want him to smile at me and make me feel warm again. I want to throttle Munkustrap, yell and scream and ask him why he just threw my mom out like a piece of garbage.

I want and I want and I want.

But I don’t move. I let the silence persist.

Bomba’s hand moves first, squeezing my knee. She turns her head and offers a tight lipped smile, and I turn to face her as she speaks, “Come on, walk with me somewhere.”

She doesn’t tell me what’s wrong. She doesn’t tell me she’s not going to help me anymore. She doesn’t yell at me or tell me I’m a problem.

I could hardly manage the nod I gave her in response.

Bomba stands and I manage to as well, and we both walk out into the cool air of the late night. The moon was high in the sky when I arrived here, but now it was starting to pass, sliding down the inky purple darkness of the night and preparing for the sun to command the sky once more.

I try to lose myself in the quiet comfort of the night as Bomba and I settle into silence once more. We walk through the Junkyard, hugging the outer edges of its heart, where I had fought with Munkustrap not so long before. But we stay in the shadows, unseen by any other cats that may be milling about. I want to ask Bomba where we’re going, but I can’t. She’s still in this odd state, affected by whatever happened to her before, and I think she needs the silence more than I do.

Eventually, we stop in front of the front a busted up muscle car. The body itself is dented, and the black and red paint job is faded and chipping, but the car still looks sleek and tough. Bomba moves to pop the hood and motions for me to follow her as she climbs inside. I hesitate for a moment before I follow suit, maneuvering through the tight squeeze of the car before emerging in a bright den.

The den is ginormous in comparison to mine, and much larger than even Alonzo’s. There are lights set up here too, and bunches of pillows littering the floor, like something out of Arabian Nights. There seems to be a nook even deeper in the back, but it’s covered by a blanket pinned to the wall. Bomba manages a smile and turns to me, gesturing around her, “I hate to bring you to my den and show you the difference in luxury.”

I laugh and shake my head, stepping forwards and truly admiring all of the colors in the den itself, “Anything is a luxury compared to what I have.”

Bomba seems to hide a wince, but she shakes it off and moves towards me, speaking softly, “Well, I’m not all alone here. I’ve got my mate and my children.”

“You don’t look like the kitten type,” I reply, “Not to be rude. You just seem very...I don’t know, not the mating type. I guess it’s just a guess.”

“I didn’t think so either,” Bomba laughs, “But then I fell in love and everything changed. Very fairy tale cliche, don’t worry.”

Bomba moves to sit and I do the same, and I’m so grateful for the growing ease between us. She doesn’t look pained anymore. I stretch my legs out as I sit, glancing at my bandaged arms to see if I’ve started bleeding again, “How many children do you have?”

“Three,” Bomba muses, “Genesis is around your age. Liliana and Dewey are twins and a bit younger. They’ll like you.”

I smile, wondering what Bomba’s children might look like. Beautiful, I’m sure, just like she is. But I waver as I consider her last few words, that her children will like me.

“Your mate,” I say, my voice low, “I’m assuming he...won’t like me, for lack of kinder words.”

Bomba falters again, and the brief respite we shared is gone again. So her mate is the problem, but I’m the real source. He must be angry with her for helping me, the Jellicle Bastard. Maybe that’s why she was so unsettled when she came to me before.

Bomba takes a steadying breath and closes her eyes, folding her hands in front of her, “The Rum Tum Tugger. We were so alike and so different when we were young, both fun loving and flirtatious but wild in our own ways. In a way, we may have been meant for each other. But the way he feels about you, the things he said about Demeter...I can’t support them.”

“You don’t have to support me,” I reply quickly, almost angrily, “I will not ruin your relationship, Bomba. I’m just a disruption in your life, in everyone’s life. I don’t want-”

“No,” Bomba said, cutting me off and setting her sharp gaze onto me, “Don’t think like that anymore. You are valuable and carry so much worth. Tugger is a small problem. He’s really just the way he is because he’s Munkustrap’s half-brother.”

I sigh as Bomba cuts me off, slightly relieved but ready to ask her why exactly I’m so valuable when she reveals a rather interesting piece of information. “Half-brother,” I echo, “So your mate is literally one of the closest people to Munkustrap?”

“They have different mothers, but they’ve shared everything else,” Bomba replies, “And yes, in the most cynical way, that’s how it is. But Alonzo is second in command, and you know he suppor-”

“Why don’t you hate me then?” I ask, my eyes wide, “If your mate is your fairytale cliche love, then why didn’t you believe whatever he told you about my mother? Why didn’t all of you believe what was said about my mother?”

Bomba sighs and smiles wistfully, shaking her head, “I don’t know if your mother ever mentioned me, Jezzabella, but I was her best friend. We were two of the top queens of the tribe, nearly inseparable. No matter how horrid the picture of her now is, I will never see her that way, and I will never see you that way.”

I shudder and look down at my arms, taking in Bomba’s words. She believes so much in who my mother was, and not what everyone painted her to be. Bomba is willing to put a major strain on her relationship just to show support to me when anywhere else, I’m just an insignificant spot on the Earth. Bomba cares. I might be a problem, but at least I know that Bomba will be there to help me.

After a moment, Bomba reaches out and takes my hand in hers. I look up and meet her gaze, and I smile as I see the tender smile on her own face. “I didn’t just bring you here to talk,” Bomba says, “I actually wanted you to meet-”

“Momma! Dewey keeps pulling on my eeeeaaaar!”

Suddenly, two young kittens come tumbling into the den. The female kitten continues to screech as the other kitten pins her down, tugging playfully at her ear with a wicked grin on his face, “That’s c-c-cause you sc-sc-sc-scared off my mouse!”

The kittens, Bomba’s children, blissfully unaware in the way that only kittens can be, continue to tumble about, pulling and tugging and fighting in a way that’s purely affectionate. Bomba allows the kittens to have their fun, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Liliana, Dewey,” she begins, her voice soothing and commanding all at once, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

The kittens stop then and scramble off of each other. In the moment they both look at me, I’m struck by how much they look like Bomba. Their coats were a mottled red and white, much like their mother’s, but there were more distinct patches of black fur, from their father most likely. The smaller kitten, Dewey, definitely has Bomba’s pale and sharp eyes.

“Wh-h-ho’s she?” he asks, inching ever so slightly closer to his sister. For all the playful ferocity he shared with his sister, I get the sense that Dewey is more often content to stay in his sister’s shadow.

“This is Jezzabella,” Bomba says, placing a hand reassuringly on my shoulder, “She’s my dear friend Demeter’s daughter.”

The kittens tense then at the mention of my mother’s name. Their eyes go wide with fear and I see the confusion of fight and flight in their bodies. I was probably some sort of horror story in the Jellicle Junkyard. They want to condemn me and run away from me all at once, and they never even knew who my mother was. Bomba was foolish for thinking they would like me. I should just stand up and get away while I still can.

The female kitten, Liliana, steps forwards first, carefully, as if approaching a hungry tiger in a cage, “Did you really fight Uncle Munkus in the Junkyard?”

Well that wasn’t...exactly what I expected. I sigh and look away and cringe. Isn’t that just a loaded question? “He attacked me,” I mutter, my voice low, “I just wanted to have a home here, like my mother did.”

“S-s-so you d-d-d-don’t have a m-m-momma?” Dewey asks, still hiding behind his sister.

“Not anymore,” I respond, forcing myself to meet their searching gazes, “She died. That’s why I came back, to find a home.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I register an odd response from Bomba at the mention of my mother’s death. Maybe it was insensitive to say it so bluntly now, in front of her children, but it had never crossed my mind before. My mother had been dead for months now, and I had done my mourning. I assumed everyone here had done the same when my mother was banished.

“Uncle Munkus doesn’t like you,” Liliana says bluntly, but her voice is soft, “But you don’t seem so bad like he says.”

“She’s not,” Bomba says, and when I turn to face her I can see her eyes are watery, “Her mother was my best friend, so I’m going to be helping her while she’s staying in the Junkyard.”

“D-daddy won’t l-l-l-like that,” Dewey says. He seems like an easily frightened kitten, almost in a perpetual state of shivering, and his stutter doesn’t help much.

“Well, Daddy isn’t making this decision,” Bomba replies, standing and moving towards Liliana and Dewey. She pulls them close and kneels in front of them, her voice strong, “This was Momma’s decision to make, and she made it. Now no matter how much Daddy doesn’t like it, this is what Momma is doing. Okay?”

The twins nod and glance at me briefly before Liliana whispers to her mother, “Is she gonna be staying with us?”

Bomba shakes her head, “No, she won’t be. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be friends with her, right?”

The twins grin and look at each other tentatively before looking at me. I’ve been watching this entire conversation from the outside in, and it’s such an odd and supportive dynamic. Maybe that’s what a family is. Even in the dysfunction, there will be love and support and a little bit of mischief.

Liliana grabs her brother’s hand and walks towards me. She looks up at me and extends her free hand, a beaming grin on her face, “My name is Liliana and some cats call me Lili, but I don’t really care what you call me.”

I reach out and shake Liliana’s hand, smiling with a bit of unease, “Well, it’s very nice to meet you.”

“I’m D-D-Dewey,” Dewey squeaks suddenly, waving slightly and clutching tightly onto his sister, “Short f-f-for Deu-Deu-Deu-Deuteronomy, but c-call me...D-Dewey.”

I smile a bit more genuinely now as I release Liliana’s hand, “Well, that’s a very handsome name you have, Dewey.”

Dewey flushes and hides even more behind his sister, but the nervous smile on his face tells me that I said something right.

Bomba stands once more and comes up behind her children, setting her hands on their shoulders, “I don’t think Jezzabella has gotten a proper tour of the Junkyard yet. Why don’t you two show her around?”

Dewey perks up slightly and Liliana practically leaps out of her fur. Her eyes light up and she grasps my hand once more to drag me out of the den, “Come on! I know just the places to show you! There’s the magic picture box and the playground and the mouse house and-”

As Liliana continues to ramble and drag me and Dewey along for the ride, I hear Bomba laugh as we leave the den. I wonder if I’ve gotten myself in too deep for once. Not even in the sense that most everyone in the Junkyard hates me, but in the sense that it will be too hard to leave behind the cats that actually care about me. Because with Liliana’s small hand clasped around mine, I can’t help but feel like I actually have a place here in the Jellicle Junkyard. That for the first time, I have a real family.


	4. Interlude I

“And you’re telling me that you helped her?”

“Tugger, that is Demeter’s daughter-”

“That thing is a Jellicle Bastard as far as I’m concerned.”

“You’re not concerned, that’s the problem. Demeter was your friend just as much as she was mine!”

“And she betrayed us, Bomba. She betrayed Munkustrap, my own brother.”

“Tugger-”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Demeter’s daughter is nothing to me.”

~

“Where is she staying, Alonzo?”

“She’s staying with me, Munkus. She’s not taking up any empty dens.”

“You always did love Demeter.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re taking a lot of responsibility for her daughter. I can’t help but think it’s because you owe something to Demeter.”

“You know as well as I do that I wouldn’t have done that to you. You loved each other.”

“Apparently not enough. She had someone else’s child.”

“Munkus-”

“Just make sure that that bastard stays out of my sight, Alonzo.”

~

“Oh, Jenny, I think it’s just terrible what she’s going through.”

“That poor kitten needs all the help she can get. Why Munkus was ready to tear her to bits. And for what, being born?”

“I was too young and naive to fight for Demeter the first time.”

“Well, you can fight for her daughter now.”

“Jenny, you know that Skimble would never let that slide. And with the kittens so young...”

“You can’t spend your time worrying about what your mate will think. You just have to be happy with your own choices.”

“I suppose so.”

"There's the smart queen I know. Now I think you know what you have to do next."


End file.
